


Stitchers and Healers

by TheRealDanniX



Series: Learning to Live With Each Other [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, But I Love Them, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Healing, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, I'm trying here and i don't really know why, No Beta, Or as domestic as they get, Pre-Slash, They Are Idiots, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23906554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealDanniX/pseuds/TheRealDanniX
Summary: Geralt learning to let Jaskier help with somethings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Learning to Live With Each Other [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695268
Comments: 6
Kudos: 209





	Stitchers and Healers

**Author's Note:**

> CW: blood, wound descriptions, no actual violence described, just lots of talk of, well stitches. 
> 
> Once again, I have no excuse. I hope you like it and if you do, drop a kudos and a comment. 
> 
> I'm gonna try and respond to comments from now on cause I want y'all to know that I really do appreciate it when y'all leave feedback. I know I haven't really been good about that in my other writing, but I'm gonna try.

The hardest thing about traveling with Jaskier is learning to let the man care about him. Geralt is a Witcher. He is not meant to travel with anyone, let alone this colorful bard full of songs and speech. When the Bard first joined him on the Path, he had expected the noise to be the worst thing. Somehow, though, the noise had become something of a blessing. It made the Path less lonely.

No, the worst thing was how much the young man wanted to care for him. Every time he returned from a contract, Jaskier would try to get close, buzzing with anxiety and worry. The first few times it happened, Geralt had wanted to shove something at the bard just to force him to stop fiddling with his hands as he watched the Witcher fix himself up. For the first year, this seemed to satisfy him. Being told to hand things so that Geralt could take care of it himself. But, as time passed, that became too little. Jaskier’s anxious energy would return after every hunt. After spending a season apart, it was clear that the Bard still wanted to care for him, and he wanted to do that in bigger gestures than before.

But Geralt resisted. He was a Witcher. He wasn’t meant to be cared for by this colorful bard who had latched himself to a void. He did not want the care of a young man who was going to leave soon enough. Already, his songs were spreading, and he was gaining popularity. He wouldn’t need the Witcher anymore. Geralt couldn’t want for him when he left. So, the best decision really was to keep Jaskier at arm’s length. Like everything with the bard, it worked for some time.

Then there was a hunt. It should have been a fairly simple hunt for a drowner. It was common enough that Jaskier hadn’t even wanted to come, choosing instead to earn more coin at the tavern. But the alderman had been wrong. Geralt had been wrong. It wasn’t drowners. It was a devourer. Bigger and uglier than a drowner. And this one had been big, apparently well-fed on the villagers. Geralt hadn’t been prepared. He didn’t have his potions, thinking it would be an easy fight. It took far too long to take the beast down. And it had taken its toll. There had been a large gash across his stomach, through his armor, not to mention the several small slashed that would still likely need stitches. He honestly fared well in getting back to the village with as much blood loss as he had. He blacked out at the edge of town. When he had finally regained consciousness, it was to Jaskier’s worried ranting.

“Honestly Geralt,” the bard mumbled, “you are very lucky that I knew how to help you else you would have left both Roach and I alone on the path. I mean, what kind of town doesn’t have a healer of any kind? Don’t people get sick here?” His voice was tired sounding. “So you see, dear Witcher, you are lucky that you don’t travel on your own as much or you would still be bleeding out at the town gates.” Jaskier huffed, and Geralt finally forced his eyes open. He saw the frazzled looking bard with his back to him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I suppose you could still bleed out, but it’s a lot less likely now that I’ve got everything stitched up. Infection is a concern. Well, I think it is. I don’t really know if it is, what with you Witcher healing and everything. You don’t really tell me much about that sort of thing, but, either way, I’m trying to keep the slashes clean. Even if you won’t get an infection, you’ll still heal faster if they’re properly treated. That way, you might actually be awake to hear me rant at you.” Jaskier glanced over his shoulder and his whole body tensed when he met the golden gaze of the Witcher. “Geralt, you’re awake.”

“Hmm.” Geralt pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed watching the bard oddly. The gash on his torso hurt, but he could already feel it healing nicely. As were the other admittedly not small cuts on his arms. They were covered carefully in bandages in a way that was far too practiced. Jaskier just stared at him, letting the silence build, until the Witcher felt compelled to break it. “You stitched my wounds.” There was a question there. One he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“Ah, yes, yes I did. I know you prefer to patch yourself up after a fight, but seeing as you weren’t conscious, I thought you’d make an exception. I would have let a healer do it, but this town does not have a healer, which I find absolutely astonishing.” Jaskier had looked away, choosing to focus on whatever was in his hands.

“You said,” Geralt said. His voice was even rougher than usual.

“You heard that?” Jaskier glanced up, head tilting slightly. “Well, uh, anyway, since there was no healer to be found, I did what I could. I used to watch the healer work for hours when I was younger, and she would often show me how to do what she did. I suppose she liked sharing, though I suspect a lot of it was loneliness, really. Thankfully, I watched her sew up several injuries over the years. Even helped if it was needed. Granted, I never had to sew up someone’s entire stomach before, but the principles the same.” The bard shrugged. He rose from the bed, setting down the notebook in his hands and picking up his lute instead. “If you promise to stay conscious, I’ll be back in an hour or two with dinner.” He didn’t really wait for Geralt to respond before leaving.

The Witcher spent more time than he would ever care to admit just staring after the bard, wondering how someone who seemed so flighty and colorful, who complained daily, who breathed music and love, how someone like Jaskier could ever have found his way to Geralt. How he seemed to be perfectly fine with monster guts and blood and sewing skin together. How he still seemed to be able to smile and sing and ramble even after spending gods know how many hours taking care of a Witcher. He would never mention it to Jaskier, but he knew now that the bard’s heart was bigger than he first imagined. And it was big enough to care for even a monster.

It was…..easier after that to let Jaskier help. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew the bard would still eventually leave him for a new muse, but, until then, Geralt could let him help. After all, healers were expensive and Jaskier had steady hands.

It had nothing to do with that odd twinge he got when callused fingers expertly applied a salve or wrapped a bleeding cut.


End file.
